


Freefall

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [9]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, Alien anatomy, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Bottoming, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Julian and Garak struggle with the aftermath of their relationship strains and emotional turmoil resulting from the destruction of the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar in the Gamma Quadrant. When the valedictorian of Julian's graduating medical school class is scheduled to visit the station, his flagging confidence takes another blow, he learns a painful secret, and Garak takes the opportunity to cultivate the seeds of revenge against an enemy, Cardassian style.





	Freefall

**Part I**

_Julian  
Private Quarters_  
   
Julian lay sprawled on his back in bed, one leg out from under the covers and sweat slowly drying on his body. He rested a hand on Garak's hip and felt the Cardassian go lax under his touch, his breaths evening out to the steady rhythm of sleep. With an echo of pleasure still thrumming him, he carefully rolled to his side and climbed out of the bed, making his way stealthily into the bathroom. Stepping into the sonic shower, he hit the button to activate it and leaned a hand against the shower wall, his eyes closed.  
   
He didn't know what was wrong with him. Garak had been, well, better to him than he ever had during the entire relationship. He was considerate, charming, agreeable, and tender in bed. Maybe that was part of the problem. Julian knew he was holding back, not being himself out of fear of what? Losing control again? Frightening him? He shut the shower off and stepped out, crossing back into his bedroom and picking out something to wear in the very low light. He had done his best to show the tailor that he was committed to making things work and that he had no intention of leaving just because things weren't perfect.  
   
It didn't help that being touched in certain ways or feeling pinned made him react negatively. If given time, he could breathe or think his way through it. The trouble was that Garak was too observant. He'd back off at the slightest sign of the doctor's discomfort. More often than not, he was also still crying in his sleep. When awakened, he'd allow Julian to hold him until he fell back asleep again, his silent tears wet against Julian's chest. He wouldn't talk about it. He claimed that he couldn't talk about it, but he wouldn't explain what he meant by that. Being understanding was difficult when that felt like mistrust.  
   
It was early yet, and he was restless. He grabbed up a random PADD and left a quick recording for Garak in case he awakened, to let him know that he was stepping out and would be back later. Out in the H-ring, he felt as though he could breathe easier. He had no idea how to broach the subject with Garak, and he felt horribly ungrateful considering the Herculean efforts he knew the man was making on his behalf. How could he tell him it was too much, to back off and be an ass again sometimes? The tailor was extremely sensitive to what he called “mixed messages”. He didn't want to give the appearance of game playing or being fickle.  
   
He took the lift down to the Promenade and made his way to Quark's Bar, deciding that coffee would be smarter than alcohol. He didn't need to be drinking in the mood he was in. Activating the PADD, he realized he had lifted one of the crime novels Miles had loaned him. Smiling to himself, he picked up where he left off and sipped at his coffee.  
   
Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a gorgeous Bajoran Dabo girl approaching. “Excuse me,” she said, offering him a brilliant smile, “you're Doctor Bashir, aren't you?”  
   
He smiled and said, “That's right.”  
   
“I'm Leeta,” she introduced herself. “I've been meaning to come by the infirmary.” She gave two cute little coughs, her look coy.  
   
It had been so long since anyone other than Garak had flirted with him, he was taken completely off guard. He couldn't help but to play along. It felt nice, and it was harmless. He ordered both of them hot toddies. Just as the waiter left, Dax approached.  _Not now,_ he groaned inwardly. It wasn't as though he was doing anything wrong. When it looked as though Dax would be joining them, he typed, “Go away!” on his PADD and handed it to her. She complied, but not before dropping the bombshell on him that the valedictorian of his graduating med school class would be visiting the station in three weeks. He found himself so discombobulated by the news that he couldn't even properly return to flirting.  
   
Leeta sensed his distraction and excused herself after she finished her drink. “I'll come by the infirmary soon,” she said, “so you can have a look at me and tell me if you think I'm all right.”  
   
He blinked, his mouth slightly open, and nodded. “Yes,” he managed, “you should do that. Those coughs can turn nasty before you know it.”  
   
A shadow fell across his shoulder as she sauntered away. He swiveled his head to see Quark. The Ferengi's gaze tracked Leeta's departing backside, but his words were for the doctor. “You're playing with fire, Doctor,” the man said casually.  
   
“Leeta? No,” he scoffed, laughing it off. “She thinks she's coming down with something. That's all.”  
   
“It's not Leeta I'm talking about,” he said with a significant look.  
   
“Well, I really don't know what you are talking about,” he said, smiling and shrugging.  
   
Setting his tray on the adjacent table, Quark efficiently bussed the empty glasses. “During the occupation, I once saw a Cardassian break another Cardassian's neck with his bare hands right outside my bar.”  
   
Julian frowned, his lip curling at the mental image. “That's awful,” he said.  
   
“It was. Apparently, the unfortunate victim had made his interest in the gul's comfort woman a little too public. They're funny that way, Cardassians. They don't like to share.” He shot a pointed look Julian's way.  
   
He widened his eyes, both brows lifting. “Quark,” he said with a half laugh, “stop worrying. I was just having a conversation.”  
   
“Mmhmm. I've seen it all before,” he said. “The mouth says one thing, the eyes another. But who am I to give advice?” He lifted his tray, tossing parting words over his shoulder. “I bet your neck would be a lot easier to break than a Cardassian's. What do you think?”  
   
Shaking his head, he decided it was time to get back to his quarters. The last thing he needed were rumors starting. The worst part was that Dax still had his PADD, and the novel was just getting interesting.  
   
 _Garak  
Julian's Quarters_  
   
He awoke to an empty bed. Pressing his hand lightly to the mattress, he noticed it felt cold. Julian had been gone for some time, then. He stretched and sat up, rubbing absently at his eyes. Wrapping the outer blanket about his shoulders, he slid out of bed and padded into the sitting room, calling up the lights. He wasn't there, either, but a light flashed on the comm. He triggered the message and shrugged. He knew that he hadn't felt nearly as social as usual lately. It was no wonder Julian wanted the chance to get out a little. Thinking nothing of it, he climbed back into bed and fell asleep. The next time he awakened, it was from nightmare, always the same, the Warbird on fire around him, the bridge in shambles, Tain droning on about the old days, rooted to the spot. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't budge him. Then he awakened on the runabout only to see the ship explode in the distance. “Enabran,” he murmured.  
   
“Are you awake, Love?” Julian's voice sounded from the darkness.  
   
He felt a warm arm slide across his chest, and he allowed the doctor to pull him close. “I am now,” he said, settling against the slim form, his cheek against the smooth chest. “Did you have fun out? I got your message.”  
   
“I did. Just sat in Quark's for a while, reading. I hope my absence wasn't what awakened you.” He trailed light fingers over Garak's shoulder and back.  
   
“No. I'm not sure what did. You know I haven't been sleeping very soundly.” He allowed his hand to slide lower and play against the soft trail of hair that started just beneath the doctor's belly button.  
   
The doctor nodded, bending his head and resting his lips in Garak's hair. “I wish you'd consider those pills I told you about. They do help.”  
   
“You know I don't like pills. They do strange things to me. My body doesn't react well to them.” As he slid his hand lower, Julian slightly lifted his thigh and tensed. He instead let his hand cup over the cusp of one of the sharp hip bones. “Is something wrong?” he asked.  
   
“No, nothing. I'm just tired now and wanting to get a little sleep. You know how we are. If we go back for seconds, we'll be awake until it's time for me to get ready for work.”  
   
“I can make it considerably quicker if you want,” Garak said, turning to nip lightly at his chest.  
   
“Maybe at lunch,” he said, shifting so that he could put his back against the tailor. “I really am too tired right now. I'm sorry. If I had known you'd be awake, I would've come back earlier.”  
   
“It's all right,” he said, careful to keep his disappointment out of his voice. He turned so that they lay back to back and focused on his own breathing until his arousal retreated. As he drifted back toward sleep, he hoped that the nightmare wouldn't return. He had been fairly exhausted lately, too, due to the disruptions of the dreams. When he got to where he could hardly bear himself, he'd talk to Odo about any number of things except what was eating at him. It helped relieve the internal pressure, and he suspected that Odo found it helpful, too, talking to someone who understood him better than most and didn't pressure him to conform to some preconceived notion of acceptable sociability.  _The two outcasts,_  he thought with fleeting dry humor. Their unlikely friendship was one of the few good things in his life he could lay at the feet of his father. Had he not tried to have Garak killed, they never would have bonded. He finally fell asleep on that odd thought and remained undisturbed through morning.  
   
 _Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
The work had been steady all morning. As lunch time approached, he found himself thinking as much about the Dabo girl, Leeta, as he was about the tentative plans he had made with Garak for a “quickie”, that being a relative term when it came to the tailor. As it was, he knew they'd be cutting things very close. He wondered if he would object to just using the stock room. It would drastically reduce walking time.  
   
He periodically glanced toward the entrance. About five minutes before he needed to leave, she came through the door. She looked different dressed in casual Bajoran style, no less beautiful, though. As soon as her warm brown eyes met his, she smiled widely and approached, coughing discreetly into a fist. “Hello, Doctor,” she said. “As you can see, I think it has gotten worse.”  
   
“Excuse me,” Nurse Decla said, turning toward the two, “but do you have an appointment?”  
   
“It's all right, Nurse,” he said a bit stiffly. “She spoke to me last night and told me she'd be coming by. I'll take care of this.”  
   
“What about your lunch date?” the woman asked too sweetly.  
   
Leeta glanced at him uncertainly. “Is this a bad time? I'll be going on shift soon, and I wanted to make it by before you got off for the day.”  
   
“No, it's fine,” he said, shooting Decla a cold glance as he put a hand lightly to Leeta's back to guide her toward one of the examination rooms. “I'd be remiss if I allowed a social engagement to take precedence over a potential case.”  
   
After they stepped into the room, she turned to face him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I have a confession,” she said. “I don't really have a cough. I just wanted an excuse to see you before I had to go to work. I don't get much free time.”  
   
He smiled slightly and moved closer so that their voices wouldn't carry. “I suspected that,” he said. “And I'm flattered, but...I am seeing someone.”  
   
She nodded. “I had heard, and I've seen you out with him a few times. I wasn't sure if you two were very serious or not. You're not very...well...the body language between the two of you is pretty stiff.” She shrugged. “I'm sorry if I assumed something I shouldn't have.”  
   
“No, not at all,” he said. “I mean, I'm not offended.”  
   
“If you decide you want to expand your dating options, you know where to find me,” she said after a moment of speculative silence. “I figure it can't hurt to keep my options open.” She shot him a wink and showed herself out, a subtle perfume lingering in the air after she was gone.  
   
Rubbing a hand down his face, he shook his head and hurried out to the Replimat. Garak was already there. As he approached, the man stood from his seat at their table. “I was beginning to think you changed your mind,” he said.  
   
“No, I haven't. I just had a late drop by. I told her last night I'd take a look at her cough when she had time to come by.”  
   
The tailor smiled very faintly, something serpentine and calculating in the look. “You don't usually expound on your patients, dear. I do hope the cough isn't serious?”  
   
“No,” he said, barely avoiding ducking away from that too knowing look. “So I was thinking of your stock room,” he added, hoping to distract him. “It's much closer than our quarters. We'll have more time.”  
   
“Very thoughtful of you,” Garak agreed, offering him his arm. “Shall we, then?”  
   
Julian slipped his hand through the crook of his elbow and walked with him toward the shop. He thought back to what Leeta said, about their body language being stiff together. It wasn't as though he wanted it that way. He had always bent himself to what Garak found acceptable. After he had seen how dangerous some Cardassians could be, he had stopped questioning that requirement. Things were different now, weren't they? Tain was dead. Most of the Obsidian Order had been destroyed. Why should he not be more demonstrative if he wanted to be?  
   
He leaned in to press a kiss to Garak's cheek, only to have the tailor flinch away and murmur, “We're nearly there.”  
   
“I know that,” he said. “I just wanted to kiss you. Is there something wrong with that?”  
   
A troubled expression fleeted through blue eyes. Garak hesitated then said, “No, I suppose not.” He tilted his head slightly to invite a second attempt.  
   
“Never mind. It's not the same if it's not spontaneous.” He let go of Garak's arm and walked ahead of him into the shop, heading straight toward the back. He was starting to regret agreeing to this. They weren't much in sync at the moment.  
   
Garak closed the shop and stock room doors. He gave Julian an assessing look and without fanfare reached down to unfasten his belt and the lower portion of his tunic. Julian watched him, unsure of exactly what the man intended. When he also unfastened his trousers, pulled them part way down, and crossed to lean over a shipping crate, his intention became clear. Feeling a small thrill of excitement, Julian came up behind him, unzipping his uniform to open it along the front. He stirred to hardness on his way and reached around the tailor to slick his hand with his natural wetness. Smearing it downward onto his cock with a single pump of his fist, he reached again, this time easing a lubricated finger into the tight opening presented to him so temptingly.  
   
It was very rare for Garak to make such an offer without any prompting on his part. Without hesitation, he positioned himself, thumb at the base of his shaft, head teasing circles. Garak pressed back steadily, impaling himself and groaning softly. It was all the encouragement Julian needed. He dug his fingers into the scaled hips and rode forward, leaning over the tailor's back and feeling the thick tunic and his turtleneck nap together in the friction. As he closed his eyes, his mind took him to a new partner, and the thought of doing the same to her pushed him right over the edge. He moaned, his head dropping forward to rest against the broad back beneath him. He rode out every last spasm and lay there, not fully trusting his legs to support him.  
   
Garak shifted as though to remind him that he was still there. Feeling guilty, Julian straightened and pulled out. He reached to turn Garak to face him and dropped easily to his knees to take the length of him into his mouth. There was no corresponding fantasy to match this experience. In part to make up for his mental lapse and in part because he genuinely enjoyed the taste and feel of his lover, he tongued and sucked at him with abandon, feeling the man's wetness slicking his cheeks and chin. Garak's fingers tangled in his hair, but his hold remained gentle. It frustrated him. He wanted more, wanted his force, his fire. He redoubled his efforts, rewarded at least by a tremor in the strong thighs. The tailor leaned back against the packing crate and gripped the edge of it with both hands.  
   
Julian pulled off of him with a soft, wet pop and stood, grasping at him and clutching him against his chest. He kissed him forcefully, thrust Garak's own moisture and taste past his lips and bathed his tongue with it. He felt the Cardassian hard against his belly and an answering stir, bucking his hips and clinging tightly to Garak's hair. Arms encircled him fiercely, fingers spreading and digging across his back.  _Yes,_  he thought. This was what he wanted, not the tender care, not right now. He stiffened fully, rubbing cock to cock and then managing to work his way past the scaly ridge, into that velvety slit that was better than anything he had ever felt before he had become this man's lover.  
   
Garak threw his head back, letting out a prolonged, “Ahhh,” that was both pleasure and pain given voice. Julian spared him no mercy, seeking, hungering, and needing. He bit a sharp line down the deeply scalloped scales at the base of a neck ridge, feeling Garak jerk and twist for each pinch of teeth. “My love,” the man gasped, the fingers digging at Julian's back closing to fists in his uniform.  
   
 _Yes,_  he thought again. He worked himself into a sweaty mess, no longer thinking of the time or whether they'd meet their deadline. Lifting his head from feasting at the exquisite neck, he thrust his tongue past firm lips, kissed him so deeply his jaw began to ache. Garak's slippery cock leaped between them like a thing alive and with a volition of its own. He pressed harder and tighter, using the friction of the light trail of belly hair to finish him in a glorious explosion. While the tailor was still gasping from his pleasure, each breath captured in the doctor's mouth, Julian came again, feeling his seed flooding the tight cavity and spilling back outward and down over their thighs.  
   
“Your uniform,” Garak said, panting.  
   
Pulling back, he saw that his turtleneck was splotched in several damp patches. Leave it to the tailor to think of such a thing in the moment. “It's all right,” he said. “It won't show once I'm zipped back up again.”  
   
“It might not show, but to anyone with a nose stronger than that snip of a useless thing you humans use, it's going to be painfully obvious what you've been up to,” the tailor said.  
   
“So what if it is?” he said, frowning. “My God, Garak, we've been together off and on over two years. If people haven't figured it out by now, then they're either stupid or blind.”  
   
Garak blinked at the tone in his voice and bent to gather his trousers and pull them back up. He turned away to find his belt and quickly refastened the base of his tunic. Something in the quiet dignity of his actions made Julian believe he had hurt his feelings.  
   
He zipped himself up and touched Garak's shoulder lightly. “I didn't mean to snap like that,” he said.  
   
“You haven't been yourself lately, and we both know why,” Garak said, almost meeting his gaze but not quite. His focus seemed to rest just lower, perhaps at his cheek. “Let's not pretend.”  
   
He sighed. “We don't have time for this discussion right now. I'm probably late for getting back to work.”  
   
“You have precisely four minutes and thirty-two seconds,” the tailor said. “I've been keeping track for you.”  
   
“This new concern of yours for my schedule is touching,” he said carefully. “You've been very considerate about a great many things, and although I appreciate it...it's not really necessary. It's not you.”  
   
“I see,” he said. After a beat, he turned to face the door. “Computer, open stock room door,” he said.  
   
“Garak,” he said, hurrying to catch up to him before he could get far, “I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean that you're not considerate at all. It's just...it feels like you've been treading on eggshells around me, and I don't want you doing that.”  
   
“You need to get back to work,” the tailor said gently, giving his forearm a light squeeze. “Computer, open shop doors.”  
   
He tried to kiss him. He may as well have been kissing insensate stone. Once more they had gone from aching intimacy to full shut out. This time, he knew it was largely due to what he had just said. However, he had been telling the truth. If the truth brought them to this point, then what were they to do? “Can we talk about this later tonight?” he asked.  
   
Garak nodded. As he left him to get back to work, he couldn't help but to think that the tailor looked somehow lost. It didn't bode well for the later conversation.  
   
 _Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
Dinner cooled on his table. Thinking at first that Julian had been detained in the infirmary, he had placed a call about thirty minutes ago only to be told he had already left for the day. He didn't have the clearance to ask the computer where he was, and he didn't feel like running all over the station looking for him. With a stubborn set to his mouth, he sat down to eat his portion of the meal.  
   
He chewed with slow deliberation and thought about lunch. It wasn't fair, or perhaps he had simply expected too much. Perhaps the limit to the doctor's ability to understand had lessened over time. Could he blame him? For all of their chemistry, they weren't terribly compatible. The longer they were together, the more obvious it became to both of them. He believed that Julian was trying. Maybe the man didn't even consciously realize that he still didn't trust Garak on a most fundamental level. He didn't know how he could make himself any less threatening than he already had without simply not moving and staying completely silent.  
   
He wished with everything he had that he could explain to him why losing Tain hit him so hard, but to do so would endanger his mother. He'd sooner die than do that.  _It must be nice to be so sheltered,_  he thought bitterly,  _to believe that everything will be fine if we all just trust each other, open up, and don't hold back._  He threw his fork down in disgust, his appetite gone. Why would Julian ask to talk and then not even tell him he was running late? What was there to say? Obviously, all of his efforts were for nothing. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. If that was to be the case, then he might as well do as he pleased. He cleaned up his portion of the meal and retreated to his bedroom to read. Maybe Preloc would calm him down and give him some perspective.  
   
As he read, something niggled at the back of his mind. He hadn't tried to look at any reports out of Cardassia on the doomed joint raid. The thought of it was so painful that he shied away.  _Sentiment is weakness,_  he told himself. Setting the PADD aside, he went to his comm and took a seat before it. It was time to stop avoiding the situation like keeping a tongue tip out of a fresh tooth socket. It was time to see exactly who and what had been lost that day. It took him a long time to get to what he was after, but when he did, he couldn't look away. Some of the ships were missing, not destroyed. If there were missing Cardassian ships, might there have been missing Warbirds, too? Was it possible the ship carrying Tain hadn't been destroyed after all? It was probably foolish, but he felt a spark of something he had given up on long ago, hope.

**Part II**

_Julian  
Quark's Bar_  
   
Julian knew that he ought to head to Garak's. His third ale into his bar sitting, he still hadn't made the move. Leeta wasn't anywhere to be seen, either already off shift or perhaps occupied at some private party Quark occasionally hosted in one of the back rooms. Dax saw him and approached, taking a seat on the stool beside him. “So,” she said, leaning in to bump her shoulder against his, “spill.”  
   
“Spill what?” he asked, taking a swig of the ale.  
   
“Why were you so eager to get rid of me last night?” she asked.  
   
He knew he'd have to face that question sooner or later. He tried his best to be casual. “I don't know. I suppose I was just enjoying her company, and I wouldn't have been as able to get to know her with somebody else at the table.”  
   
“You were flirting,” she said.  
   
“There's nothing wrong with flirting,” he said defensively.  
   
“You're right. There's not,” she said entirely too agreeably for him to trust it. Her next words confirmed his suspicion. “At least if your relationship is secure, and you both have an understanding that it's no big deal. What do you think Garak would say if he saw you flirting with a Dabo girl?”  
   
“Quark seems to think he'd break my neck,” he said glumly.  
   
Dax's eyes flashed. He could tell she was still angry about what he had told her. “He had better not even think about it,” she said. “Still, if it made him angry, don't you think that would be reasonable under the circumstances?”  
   
“Probably,” he said, polishing off his ale. “As much as I appreciate what you're trying to do, I'd just as soon not talk about it. This is something I need to work out for myself.”  
   
“Fine,” she said, signaling Quark and ordering a colorful drink Julian wasn't even sure he could pronounce properly. “Why don't we talk about something else, like Doctor Lense? You must be excited about seeing your old school mate.”  
   
“Just thrilled,” he said flatly. “I just recalled that I promised Garak we'd talk about something important tonight. I had best get to it.” As he slid from his bar stool, he thought he caught a flash of a knowing smile from her and wondered if driving him back to Garak's hadn't been her intention from the start.  
   
He chimed the Cardassian's door three times. He was about to ask the computer for Garak's whereabouts when a very distracted sounding, “Enter,” had the door sliding open to admit him.  
   
He felt bad when he saw dinner sitting out, some of the sauce congealed in a very unappetizing way. Garak barely acknowledged him, tapping away at his comm with an intensity he hadn't seen in him since before the raid. Curious but unwilling to interrupt his concentration, instead he cleaned up the cold food and replicated himself some hot. “I'm sorry I'm late,” he said. “I had a late patient.”  
   
The tapping stopped, and Garak twisted to eye him reproachfully. “If you're going to lie, it ought to be something I can't easily verify. I already checked with the infirmary over an hour ago.” To Julian's surprise, he turned back to his comm and began the typing again instead of pressing the point.  
   
“You're not angry with me for lying?” he asked.  
   
“I'm irritated that you didn't even put any effort in it to be creative,” he said airily. “If it matters that little to you, you may as well have told the truth.”  
   
“I was at Quark's, having a few drinks,” he said, suddenly not very hungry anymore. “What are you doing?”  
   
“Just a little research into the latest fashions on Risa,” the tailor replied. “They do set summer trends for a large portion of the quadrant.”  
   
“I don't believe you,” he said, pushing his plate away and standing to approach him.  
   
“Mm,” Garak said, hitting a couple of display buttons and shutting the entire screen down. “That's a pity. There was a particularly daring shirt that would suit your frame perfectly.”  
   
“I think we should take a break,” he said, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.  
   
Garak stood and turned to face him. “I thought we already tried that,” he said. “It lasted four days. We had three amazing days after that, and then things grew awkward and stayed that way. Admittedly, lunch was pleasurable today, but only for as long as we weren't talking.”  
   
Feeling a little light headed, he said, “I mean a break from the relationship entirely.”  
   
“For how long?” the tailor asked, his eyes hooding.  
   
Julian sighed. It was so hard to talk to him when he shut down like that. “I don't know,” he said honestly. “I just need some time to think about things. You'll be glad to know that the document I filed isn't official without your signature. You're not bound to me in some uncomfortable way.”  
   
“I'll be happy to know that, will I?” Garak asked. “Funny, Doctor, I'm not the one proposing a break. You are, so why would I be happy?”  
   
“You didn't seem happy with the idea of doing it in the first place; career suicide you called it, if I recall correctly,” he said, folding his arms.  
   
“Yet I agreed, to make you happy. So, you don't know how long you want this supposed break. Can you at least tell me to what end? Do I cloud your thinking so terribly that you simply can't do it if we're together?”  
   
“Truthfully? Yes, you do. There are times you start talking, and I no longer know up from down or left from right. I know you've been trying to protect me since that night. It's not making things any better. It's making them worse. I don't want some bland, safe yes man to cater to my every whim and desire, agree with my every statement, and back off at my first sign of discomfort. I didn't fall in love with that man. I fell in love with you,” he said.  
   
Garak made a soft sound that may have been frustration or something more complicated and closed his eyes briefly. “I don't know what you fell in love with, Julian, but it most surely wasn't me,” he said heavily. “I think we've established that beyond any doubt.”  
   
“You expect me to believe that the violence is more real than anything else you've shown me?” he asked, incredulous.  
   
“No,” he said. “But there's no pleasing you. I'm too rough or not rough enough. I keep too many secrets, but when I tell you the truth, it's not the truth you want to hear. I'm too accommodating or annoyingly contrary. I've tried my best to find the middle ground, but there is none with you. We're not just speaking different languages. Our very thoughts and emotions travel in completely different channels. We couldn't be less compatible if one of us were Vulcan and the other Andorian.”  
   
“You really believe that, that I'm the one never satisfied?” he asked.  
   
Garak nodded. “So why don't we be truthful this once? Calling this a 'break' is insulting to my intelligence. You want to leave. After everything I've put you through, I can hardly blame you. Actually, I'm relieved.”  
   
“Relieved?” Julian asked, frowning deeply.  
   
“Yes, relieved,” the tailor answered. “When I decided to give us another chance, I told myself that come what may, I wouldn't do that to you again. I wouldn't be the one to break it off, no matter how bad it might get. I let myself believe that if I allowed myself to love you, we'd bridge the large divide put between us by our respective cultures. It was naïve of me, which goes to show, I suppose, that one is never too old to be naïve.”  
   
“You're such a liar,” he said to him, feeling his throat constrict, “and you're breaking my heart. Stop it. You don't want this. Say you don't want it.”  
   
“Why? So you can throw it back in my face and walk out that door anyway? I think not,” he scoffed. “If you want revenge, you'll have to be more subtle than that.”  
   
“This isn't about revenge! God, you're doing it again, and I'm walking right into it,” he said, feeling disgusted with himself. He stepped closer to him. “Do you get that I'm telling you I'm about to walk out that door, and when I do, we're done?”  
   
“Yes, dear, you made that quite clear,” Garak said, his eyes glittering.  
   
“And you expect me to believe that's what you really want?” he asked.  
   
Garak drew in a deep breath and let it out. He finished closing the distance between them, and to the doctor's surprise, he wrapped his arms loosely about his waist. “So I beg you to stay,” he said softly, his expression almost as gentle as when he was making love to him, “and I know you will, for a while at least. You never could bear to see me in pain. We'll continue this deteriorating cycle, fuck each other senseless, and sooner or later wake up to realize we hate each other, except when we're fucking, perhaps even then, and we'll lie to ourselves and call it passion.”  
   
He wanted to deny it, but the words froze before ever reaching his lips. Those eyes had never looked so blue, or so sad. He couldn't look away if he tried. Lifting his hands, he rested them against the deep chest and felt the slow, steady heartbeat strong beneath the tunic. He couldn't recall his lover ever using such crude language, even in the heat of passion. The tailor was more often than not elegant and refined. He didn't know what to say.  
   
“I'd sooner have it end this way, while we still love each other, than when it gets to that point, and I believe that you would, too. Lie to me all you like, my darling, but please don't lie to yourself. That road leads to ruin. This isn't a break. This is the break,” Garak said.  
   
“I didn't want this,” Julian said, his breath hitching.  
   
Garak tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against the doctor's. His breath came warm against his lips. “I'll be here as much or as little as you need me to be,” he whispered. “I could no more turn my back on you than you could a patient of yours. We're just not compatible lovers. I don't want to lose you altogether. Stop being stubborn, dearest; I'm agreeing with you for once, honestly and openly.”  
   
He wrapped both arms around the man and squeezed, burying his face against the cool, scaled neck. How was it possible that both of them could try so hard and fail so spectacularly? He wanted to weep, except that all of it wound itself tightly in a ball in his chest to the point that it physically hurt. He felt lips in his hair, and then a cheek resting against the curve of his skull. Garak held him until he was ready to pull away. “I don't know what I'm going to do,” Julian said miserably.  
   
The tailor lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, stroking downward with his thumb. “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” he said. “You should go. We're only prolonging the inevitable, and I need some time alone. I wasn't expecting this quite so soon.”  
   
“But you were expecting it?” he asked, his nose tickling and his eyes stinging. The threatening tears were getting closer. Garak hesitated and nodded. “Don't you ever get tired of being right?” Julian asked, chuffing a laugh that very nearly turned into a sob. Yes, it was time to go.  
   
“More than I can say,” he said, giving him a final squeeze and then pushing lightly against his chest with both palms flat. “Go. We'll see one another. We'll talk. We'll be the friends we should have stayed all along. You'll see.”  
   
Julian nodded and turned, actually managing to make it out into the corridor before tears blurred his vision. Garak may have wanted to be alone, but he didn't. He desperately didn't. This time it wasn't Dax's company he wanted. He didn't think he could take being held tenderly and stroked. He needed colder comfort, preferably something in a bottle and someone who wouldn't let him curl into a ball of abject misery and pain. Even though it was getting late, he headed in the direction of Miles' quarters and reached up to scrub at his eyes. The crying could come later.  
   
 _Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
When the door closed, Garak let himself go. Feeling for the chair behind him, he sank into it and lowered his head into his hands. No matter how much of a brave front he put up for Julian just now, this was the one thing he had hoped wouldn't happen. It felt as though everything that had meaning to him was falling away, leaving him to stand alone, a cold pillar of stone in a raging sandstorm. There was no solid ground, no shelter. His tenuous thread of hope that the Warbird might not have been destroyed could snap at any moment. His past had caught up to him and cost him his present and his future. That old Elim was the worst enemy he had ever had and now too distant to be called back for his strength.  
   
Instead of burying himself back in his new research or retreating to the safety of the demands of the shop, he forced himself to sit exactly where he was and feel everything running through him. If he flinched or turned his back on it, it would consume him. That break in his control that Julian had so hoped to see finally arrived, long overdue. He wept until he felt he had nothing left inside and then climbed into his bed fully dressed, so exhausted that when he slept, he didn't dream.  
   
 _Julian  
Miles' Private Quarters_  
   
“Come in,” Miles answered the hail through the comm.  
   
Julian stepped into the quarters that had increasingly taken on the appearance of a bachelor pad the longer Keiko and Molly remained on Bajor for Keiko's botany survey. Spare parts littered the top of the dining table and a mate-less sock draped over the back of the sofa. “Where are you?” Julian asked.  
   
The engineer emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a greasy looking rag. “I was in the workshop,” he said, the “workshop” in question the bedroom he had shared with Keiko. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed as he drew closer, “what's wrong with you? You look like you just lost your best friend.”  
   
“No talking,” Julian said tightly. “Drinking.”  
   
Eying him a moment more, Miles nodded and crossed to his sideboard, uncapping a whiskey bottle and pouring into two low-ball glasses. Julian sat heavily on the sofa and accepted his glass. Miles sat beside him and set the bottle on the coffee table in easy reach. “So, what're we drinkin' to?” he asked.  
   
“Nothing,” the doctor said, starting to raise his glass to his lips.  
   
Miles stopped him with a hand to his wrist. “You can't just drink to nothin', Julian,” he said. “'S bad form.”  
   
“Then you pick,” he said morosely.  
   
“All right,” the Irishman said, looking thoughtful. “I have it. T' whiskey, women, an' darts.” He cocked a side glance at Julian. “Good enough for you?”  
   
“Perfect,” he said, not caring one way or the other as long as it meant he got to down the drink. He did so in one gulp and leaned to pour himself another. The strong liquor burned him all the way down and started a small fire in his belly. “I hope you're not going to insist we come up with something for every glass,” he said.  
   
Miles grunted. “No, just every bottle.” He grinned and tossed back his drink, letting Julian pour him a second. The two of them made fairly quick work of the first bottle and started on a second before the engineer let his curiosity get the better of him. Slurring a bit, he asked, “So's this about that Dabo girl, or th' doctor comin' here on the Lexington?”  
   
Julian blinked several times. “Who told you about all of that?” he asked, then held up a hand. “Don't tell me. Dax,” he said, irritated.  
   
“You're half right,” Miles said. He decided to forgo his glass since he was having a hard time aligning the bottle neck over the top of it and swigged directly from the source. “Dax told me about th' doctor. Quark told me about th' Dabo girl.” He slid off the couch onto the floor, looking more comfortable there. Julian joined him.  
   
“Quark!” Julian snatched the bottle from Miles' grasp. “That disgusting little toad! What'd he say?” he demanded.  
   
“I don' remember specifically,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Tell you th' truth, I didn' take it all that seriously.”  
   
He tried to focus through his drunken fog, setting the bottle aside and almost tipping it over as he pulled his hand away. “Miles,” he said very seriously, leaning closer to the man and fixing him with huge eyes, “this is very important. What...specifically...did Quark say about me and Leeta?” If word got back to Garak, the man would almost certainly assume that Julian broke it off with him in order to pursue a new relationship, and that would destroy any chance they had of remaining friends. When Miles reached for the bottle, he snatched it out of his reach. “You can have this after you remember,” he said tartly.  
   
“You don' have to be such a scab,” the engineer said with a scowl. “It was his usual malarkey. He was takin' bets on how fast Garak would find out th' two o' you had been flirtin' and whether he'd kill you for it or not.” He snorted a laugh and reached for the bottle again.  
   
Julian crabbed backward out of reach, sloshing a bit onto his uniform and coming to an abrupt halt as his back hit the soft chair behind him. “And you didn't...” A belch came up, interrupting his ire. “Didn't see fit to tell me about this?” he demanded.  
   
“O' course not,” the man shrugged and rolled to his knees to crawl forward, intent on the bottle. “Quark does these sorts o' things all the time. It doesn't mean anything.”  
   
“I left Garak tonight,” he said. “If he hears that...”  
   
Miles stopped advancing and sat back on his heels, whistling low. “Julian,” he said, clearly shocked. “It's not true, is it?”  
   
“No!” he said impatiently. “She...we flirted a  _little_ , but I had no intention of doing anything. But if this gets back to Garak, how's it going to sound to him?”  
   
“I think you know the answer t' that,” he said, leaning forward suddenly to swipe for the bottle, over balancing, and falling onto his face over Julian's legs.  
   
“Shit,” the doctor said, more out of concern over Garak than the clumsy entanglement. He helped right him and thrust the bottle into his hand. “I've got...I've got to go. Got to tell him...”  
   
“No! Are you a bloody idiot?” Shifting to his side, Miles propped himself on an elbow and leaned his back against the base of the sofa. He swigged with his free hand, some whiskey dribbling down his chin and onto his vibrant blue shirt. “Y' do that, then he's goin' t' believe it for sure!”  
   
“I don't understand,” he blinked at him blearily.  
   
“Th' worst thing you can do wit' gossip like that is t' give it weight. The harder you deny, the more guilty you look. Trust me. I've been there before. If he comes t' you about it, then you say it's ridiculous, an' you leave it at that.” He rested the bottle against his chest, nodding sagely.  
   
“So you're telling me,” Julian said, bending forward to reach for the whiskey, only to have Miles play keep away, “that if this was happening to you, and Keiko were the one in danger of hearing such a rumor, that you'd completely ignore it until she said something to you?”  
   
An odd look came into the hazel eyes. “That's exactly what I'm tellin' you,” he said.  
   
Frowning and scratching at his chest, he sat back and tried to puzzle out that look. “What?” he finally asked.  
   
“What what?” Miles retorted, lifting a brow.  
   
He gestured in a circular manner, largely because he couldn't hold his arm steady. “That...look you got when I asked you about Keiko. Has somebody been spreading rumors about you?”  
   
“Pff, it's nothin',” he said, shrugging it off and lifting the bottle for another swig.  
   
Taking advantage of the opportunity, the doctor leaned forward and snagged the neck. They struggled for a few minutes, grunting and cursing at each other, only to spill the remains over the carpet. “Now look what you did,” Julian said.  
   
“What I did? Y' bloody bastard, you're th' one who got all grabby!”  
   
“I can't seem to do anything right lately,” he said, his mood turning maudlin. He sat back against the chair base again and drew his knees up in a loose hold, resting his chin on a forearm.  
   
Rolling his eyes, the Irishman struggled to his feet and staggered toward his sideboard. “Look, I'm gettin' another bottle, so don't start that. If I've learned anythin' in my life, it's that when it comes to relationships goin' wrong, nothin' is ever entirely one person's fault. You're far from perfect...”  
   
“Thanks ever so much,” he interrupted him dryly.  
   
“You gotta keep perspective,” he said with a humorous twist of his mouth, staggering back toward Julian and sitting beside him. “Move over,” he said, nudging until they could share the chair base as a resting spot. He placed the bottle with exaggerated care into his hand. “As I was sayin' before I was so rudely interrupted, bein' with you is no bed of roses...”  
   
“Miles O'Brien, how would you know that?” he asked crossly. “You've never been with me.”  
   
“You keep interruptin' me, I'm going to take that bottle back and kick your skinny arse to the curb,” he said gruffly. “I'm...” he struggled to find the word, then shrugged. “It's easy to tell that just from bein' your friend. You're no picnic on the Shannon, but neither is Garak,” he said, seeming satisfied with himself for making his point.  
   
“You wax so poetic when you're drunk,” he said, amused in spite of himself. “You're no cruise down the Thames, yourself.” He uncapped the bottle and took a long drink. His nose and lips were long past the point of numb, and he could no longer really taste the whiskey. His whole body felt too warm, so he reached up and unzipped the top part of his uniform.  
   
“I'm not, am I?” Miles asked, his lips twitching as he snatched the bottle back for a swig. “Then why're you here?”  
   
He mustered as much dignity as he could in his state and said, “I suppose the Thames is overrated sometimes.”  
   
Miles grinned and pawed him over the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “Nicest thing you've ever said to me, I think,” he said, offering the bottle back.  
   
“I'd better not,” he said, holding up his hand flat. “As it is, I don't think I'll be able to find my quarters, much less walk there.”  
   
“Then stay here,” he said, shrugging. “Y' can sleep in Molly's bed or on th' couch.”  
   
Those tears that he had done such a good job of keeping at bay caught him by surprise and slid from the corners of his eyes. “That's too kind of you. I don't deserve such kindness.”  
   
“Hey now,” the Irishman shook his head and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in with a rough squeeze. “None o' that. That's th' booze talkin', you hear? Whiskey never said anything smart. Why don't we go ahead an' get you settled while you can still move?”  
   
“In a bit,” he said, taking more comfort from the warmth of his friend at his side than he cared to admit. It was what he needed, gruff affection that didn't make him feel fragile, only supported. Tentatively, he rested his head on Miles' shoulder, pleased that the man didn't shove him away; instead he just settled a little lower so that he could lean his head back comfortably against the chair seat. Neither of them moved again until morning, an unpleasant awakening of hangovers, sore necks, and in Julian's case, a uniform stained with more than just whiskey since he had never changed from the day before.  
   
“God help me,” Miles groaned as he sat up, reaching both hands up to the back of his neck.  
   
“I can't do much for your neck, but I can give you a hangover cure,” Julian said, leaning away from him and rubbing at his own neck.  
   
“You're answering t' 'God' now?” the engineer asked wryly. “Always said that ego of yours was out of control.”  
   
“Very funny,” he snorted. His mouth tasted about like he imagined that lone sock on the couch might. He replicated both of them something for their hangovers, zipped his uniform up, and left in pretty short order, turning down the offer of using the shower. It wouldn't do him much good to shower and then don a dirty uniform. He'd still smell like sex and booze. With that thought, he felt a small eruption of panic. What if someone with a sharp sense of smell saw him leaving Miles' quarters? That was the stuff of the worst sorts of rumors.  
   
He couldn't relax until he made it back to his quarters with no one seeming the wiser. The place looked and felt empty. “Better get used to it, Jules,” he said quietly. “It's what you asked for, after all.”

**Part III**

_Garak  
Quark's Bar_  
   
Garak felt as though he had no choice but to get back to business and some semblance of routine. He resisted all impulses to contact Julian or try to arrange a lunch date. He had told him that he'd be there as much or as little as he wanted him. Since he had heard nothing, he assumed that was little indeed.  _Are you really surprised?_  he asked himself often.  _You brutalized him. You got what you wanted. He'll never trust you again._  
   
Since the night he broke, he hadn't had another nightmare. He divided his time among work, researching the missing ships, and trying to socialize a bit. He noticed, somewhat uncomfortably, that there seemed to be a bit of a divide over the breakup. Dax and O'Brien circled the wagons around Julian, while Odo and oddly Kira seemed friendlier toward him. As he made his way to the bar, he pondered this oddity. It was the first time he could bring himself to go anywhere public outside of work besides the Replimat. Morn kept shooting him strange looks, and Quark avoided him, shoving Rom in his direction instead to serve him. That cinched it for him. Something strange was going on, and somehow it involved him. “Rom?” he asked archly.  
   
Rom shot a dirty look at his brother and plastered on a false smile for Garak. “What can I get you tonight? Kanar?”  
   
“That would be a good start,” he said evenly. “And then perhaps you'd like to tell me why Morn seems to think I'm about to start a bar fight, and Quark is avoiding me.”  
   
Rom poured the blue liquor and set it before him. “No,” he said, disconsolately. “I wouldn't like to tell you, but...I will.” He shot a significant look toward a dark corner of the bar. Garak twisted himself to look, only to see Julian sitting at a small table with one of the Dabo girls he had seen a few times, an auburn haired Bajoran whom he had always thought seemed just a little vacuous. He chuffed a soft exhale and turned back toward Rom. “You're aware that Julian and I are no longer together,” he said reasonably. “It doesn't matter to me what he does with his time now.”  
   
Instead of looking reassured, Rom seemed more troubled. “Then you don't know.”  
   
Garak spread his hands. “Apparently not. Enlighten me?”  
   
The Ferengi shot another look toward the doctor and his companion, a resentful look. “That started before you broke up,” he said.  
   
Garak's look took on a fixed quality. “Oh?” he said softly. Things suddenly made so much more sense, Julian's strange behavior in the stock room, his tardiness for their talk. He had been played. As much as it stung his pride to admit it to himself, it was the most likely explanation for the abruptness of the break up and the way it had been handled. Julian had somebody else lined up to replace him, a less complicated option. His rage went immediately cold. Unfortunately, that was when he was at his most ruthless.  
   
Rom nodded. “If you ask me, it's not right. Bad enough that he didn't have the decency to wait before breaking things off with you, but now he's just flaunting it openly without any care about who sees or not.”  
   
He couldn't be sure, but it seemed to him that there was something beyond anger on his behalf in Rom's reaction. That would bear closer examination later on, but not yet. He turned his kanar glass in his hand and took a deliberate swallow, offering Rom a cold, reptilian smile. “Then it would seem that I am very fortunate he decided to leave,” he said. “Who needs such fickleness in his life?”  
   
“Garak,” Rom said in a warning tone, “you're not going to hurt him are you? He's not worth it.”  
   
“My dear friend, that is precisely what I am going to do,” he said quietly. “Only not in the way you seem to think. Give me a little credit, please.”  
   
“No credit,” Rom said automatically, then gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Sorry, habit. What are you going to do?”  
   
“You'll see,” he said, polishing off the kanar and setting the glass on the bar top neatly. “Now, that doesn't explain Morn's or your brother's behavior.”  
   
Rom looked uncomfortable. “He has a betting pool about whether you're going to kill the doctor or not when you find out.”  
   
Garak set his payment on the bar and walked down the length of it to where Morn sat and Quark tried to appear as though he weren't hiding. “I'd like to lay a wager,” Garak said to Quark, “that you are going to pay me every strip of latinum you've collected on the bet that I would kill Doctor Bashir.”  
   
“Or?” Quark asked carefully. Garak graced him with the look that took less than four hours to reduce a Cardassian doctor to a quivering mass of nerves. It took less than two minutes for Quark to retreat to the back and return with a sizable sack. “Here,” he said, “take it with my sincere apologies.”  
   
“Give me your tally sheet,” Garak said.  
   
“Wh-what?” The bartender looked startled.  
   
“You expect me to take your word that this is all of it?” the tailor asked. “I do hope for your sake that the figures match when I take this home with me to count it.”  
   
Quark quickly snatched the sack back. “I don't know what I was thinking, giving you this ugly old thing,” he said, backing away. “You're a man of taste and discernment. Let me get you something more fitting for your latinum while I fetch that sheet.”  
   
Morn eyed Garak appreciatively and chuckled. Polishing off his drink, the Lurian stood and casually walked away. Perhaps he sensed the danger of Garak's current mood, or perhaps he genuinely had elsewhere to be. It didn't matter to Garak. Quark returned with a nice case and an envelope. “This is better,” he said. “Please, keep the case with my compliments.”  
   
“I trust I don't have to ask that you never start another betting pool revolving around my personal life,” Garak said mildly.  
   
“Noooo. No,” Quark said with a nervous laugh. “I honestly don't know what I was thinking, and you know, I feel a little guilty, seeing as how it's one of my employees who behaved so shamefully.”  
   
“Quark,” Garak said, reaching to pat his shoulder. The Ferengi flinched under his touch. “We both know you don't hire your Dabo girls for their enormous...brains.” He left the bar then, making a point of catching Julian's eye and nodding cordially to him.  
   
He had to wait a few days for his opportunity to set his plan in motion. The arrival of one of Starfleet's most prestigious flagships gave him what he wanted, the doctor out of the infirmary for official meeting and greeting. He retreated to his stock room for privacy, steeled himself, and punched his back wall hard enough to break several bones in his hand.  _Nothing like a little pain to clear the head,_  he thought grimly, carefully cradling the damaged appendage against his chest and walking down to the infirmary.  
   
Nurse Decla looked up from a terminal, opening her mouth and then shutting it again when she saw his bloody knuckles. A few of the other employees glanced at her, but she shook her head as though to indicate she'd deal with him. “You had better come to the back,” she said. Inclining his head, he followed behind her. His hand throbbed and ached, already beginning to swell and discolor. He sat on the bed she indicated and obediently held his hand out for her to examine when she reached for it. “What happened?” she asked, running a tricorder over it.  
   
“I slipped and fell,” he said smoothly.  
   
She snorted. “You and the doctor are quite the accident prone pair.” She paused a masterful beat before adding, “Or rather, not a pair anymore, I should say.” He bit down on his tongue while she shifted the bones back into place and reached for an instrument to mend them. “Let me guess. When you heard that this Doctor Lense that he can't stop talking about was actually here, on top of his new Dabo girl interest, you lost control, just as you did the night you brought him here for treatment of a concussion.”  
   
“You have quite an imagination,” he said with a bland smile.  
   
“I don't need an imagination to know that Cardassians have a temper, Mr. Garak,” she said. “What did you punch?”  
   
He dropped his gaze. “A wall,” he murmured.  
   
She tsked her tongue. “While I can sympathize with you, being abandoned for another, I really can't condone such childish behavior. I would've thought someone like you above punching walls.”  
   
“I'm sure you do sympathize,” he said, “considering you went through it yourself with that gul of yours. Did he talk to you about his family before he left, or did he leave you to figure it out for yourself after he was gone?”  
   
She glanced up at him from her work on his hand, a complex look beneath the surface irritation. “Make a fist for me,” she said. He did so, blood oozing from his split knuckles. She took another reading and reached for a sanitary cloth to clean his hand, then the dermal regenerator.  
   
“What did you do when he left?” he asked casually. “Your reaction. Is that why you married?”  
   
“Don't push your luck,” she said coolly.  
   
He smiled slightly. “I thought we were simply making conversation. You set the tone at the outset with the personal questions. Was I mistaken in following your lead?”  
   
“You weren't so quick to follow my lead before,” she pointed out, keeping her eyes on her work.  
   
His smile inched wider, his gaze hooded over her bent head. “Come now. We're back to that? Are you actually going to hold it against me that I didn't want to cheat on my lover or allow you to hurt him?”  
   
“I imagine you feel rather foolish now,” she said brusquely, setting aside the regenerator once his hand looked normal again. The fine new scales gleamed with a slight, opalescent sheen. “Wasting your consideration on someone who didn't deserve it.”  
   
“No,” he said, “I don't. At the time, I didn't know he didn't deserve it.” He met her gaze and held it. “Any more than I deserved what you did to me after his attack.” Her cheeks colored faintly. “What was that really about?” he asked. “The more I've thought about it, the more I've come to believe it couldn't have been about me. We were hardly close, and while rejection stings, you also had to know I wasn't rejecting you personally but situationally. It was about your other Cardassian, wasn't it? Just like you Bajorans,” he added more softly, allowing bitterness into his voice. “You see one Cardassian, you see them all.”  
   
“You have some nerve throwing accusations,” she said, her green eyes hardening. “I've done some thinking, too, Mr. Garak. You were here for part of the occupation. I'm not stupid enough to believe you were a tailor. Your fight and drive during your physical therapy disabused me of that notion permanently. You know we have good reasons to feel the way we do.”  
   
“And yet, not only did you take one—a dangerous one—for a lover, you were ready to take another. You're quite the bundle of contradictions, Nurse Decla,” he said. “Or is it about power? The gul your prisoner, my position less than...optimal...” He curved his smile to a more knowing line. “It can be a rush, can't it, exerting control over those you see as powerful?” Her cheeks colored more deeply. He knew he was hitting close to truth if not directly on it. She wasn't offering heated denial yet. He extended another barb. “Humiliating them?”  
   
“How dare you?” she asked, clenching her fists.  
   
 _There,_  he thought, tilting his head quizzically. “I'm sorry?” he asked.  
   
“I'm nothing like you,” she said. “I loved him, and I won't let you sully that with your disgusting innuendo. I've healed your hand. It's time for you to go.” She stepped back to give him room to stand.  
   
He did so, deliberately invading her space just a touch more than was appropriate. “It's understandable,” he said. “You're right. I do know what some of my people were responsible for. No one could reasonably hold it against you for wanting to get back a little of your own, regardless of the appropriateness of your targets.”  
   
“Is that what you're trying to do?” she countered, refusing to retreat even though he could tell she wasn't comfortable with his proximity. “Get back a little of your own? How stupid would I have to be not to see this as your way of trying to get at Bashir?”  
   
He tipped his head back and laughed. “Yes, I broke my own hand to get at Julian.” Mirth danced in his eyes. “As I've said, you have an active imagination. So tell me, what should be my encore? A broken leg? Dislocated shoulder? If I specifically wanted to see you, I could've caught you unawares in any number of places without going through such trouble and pain. Do you honestly believe I keep track of your work schedule?” He eyed her with faint contempt.  
   
Muscle leaped beneath the thin skin of her jaw as it clenched. “No, I suppose you're right,” she said tightly. “You Cardassians are opportunists. You didn't have to plan coming in here to try to dig at me.” She turned. He noticed she didn't fully turn her back on him, keeping him within her line of sight and creating some distance between them. “I suppose you think I deserve it. Of course, you'd think it was malice that guided my hand with your infirmary visitation.”  
   
“Of course,” he agreed, positively fascinated with where she was taking this. She was good. Her expression matched what she was saying and how she was saying it. There was just too much anxiety, though. Her pulse gave her away.  
   
“Computer, close examination room one door,” she said, turning to face him again. “How do you think my staff would have reacted had I granted you unchallenged access to the doctor?” she asked.  
   
“They're your staff,” he said, being deliberately obtuse. “It shouldn't matter what they think.”  
   
She gave an impatient gesture. “How very Cardassian of you. I can't fire them or have them hauled away for disliking me or disapproving of my actions. I have to maintain a cooperative work environment. Believe me. They could make my life and the running of this infirmary a difficult hell if they wanted.”  
   
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “So it was fear of your staff,” he said. “You. Afraid of your staff.” He laughed again. “I never knew how very amusing you could be.”  
   
“Laugh if you like,” she said, sounding annoyed. “It's not just concern over the work environment, but over how they would feel. I don't know how much the doctor shielded you from this or not, but he suffered quite a bit of difficulty in this facility due to his relationship with you. Had I showed some sort of favoritism, too, we could have had some resignations. With the Dominion threat, it is getting harder to fill any sort of staffing position on this station. I don't know about you, but I don't consider infirmary staff expendable with us sitting right on the gateway to the Gamma Quadrant.”  
   
He invaded her space again, more aggressively this time. He watched her breath rate increase, her nostrils flare slightly. “It all sounds so very reasonable,” he said softly, “except for one problem.”  
   
“What's that?” she asked, her eyes wide, pupils contracted.  
   
“You're afraid right now. Of me.”  
   
“That's ridiculous,” she asserted lifting her chin defiantly. “I would have security in here on top of you before you could finish lifting your hand.”  
   
“No,” he shook his head. “Not of violence. It's something else.”  
   
She swallowed, and before he knew what she was doing, she launched herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly at his neck and kissing him forcefully. It took everything he had not to chortle. That wouldn't do, though. It would spoil the game. He pulled his head back, only to have her tangle her fingers deeply into his hair and draw him back down to her. Slowly, he raised his arms, pressed his hands to her back, let her believe he was surrendering to her charms. Her heart was hammering, yes, so hard that he could feel it through his hands, but her pupils were almost pinpoints. Whatever this was, it wasn't arousal. When she broke the kiss, she whispered, “I've wanted to do that for such a long time. If you thought I was afraid, it was only that you'd reject me again.” Slipping her hands lower, she trailed long, slender fingers over the sensitive ridges of his neck.  
   
He didn't have to feign a physical response to  _that._  He hissed an inhale through his nostrils. “Are you sure it wasn't fear that I wouldn't reject this?” he asked.  
   
“I don't do anything I don't want to, Garak,” she said low.  
   
He didn't doubt that, although he wouldn't put it past her to use an undesirable means to an end, even extreme means.  _Very well,_  he thought.  _We'll play this game your way for now._  Either way it worked for him and his own designs. If she believed that she could seduce her way out of his grudge, let her. It would be all the more entertaining when the hammer dropped.  
   
“You're serious about this?” he asked, stepping back from her.  
   
She nodded and smiled tentatively. “I am. If it's too soon for you, I understand.” She gave a soft, uncomfortable laugh. “I can't believe I just did that at work.”  
   
“No, it's not too soon,” he said, allowing a touch of wounded pride into his voice. “If Julian can move on so quickly, why shouldn't I?”  
   
Her expression fell for a split second. He wondered if another Bajoran would have even noticed it. “Well, good,” she said. “So, what do we do now?”  
   
“Nothing now,” he said, giving a glance about the exam room. “You told me once you don't mix work and pleasure, and it's a very good policy. How about dinner tonight at Quark's, and then we can see where it goes from there?”  
   
“You're sure?” she asked. “I would hate for this to be what the Terrans call a rebound.”  
   
“What an odd word,” he said. “Do you know what it means?”  
   
“Not precisely,” she said. “All I know for certain is that they use it in reference to a relationship that starts as a result of a breakup.”  
   
“Do you believe I had no interest before now?” he asked.  
   
“No,” she said thoughtfully. “I could tell that you did.” She nodded then and slid a hand down his arm, tangling her index and middle fingers with his. “I'm...glad we're putting all that ugliness behind us,” she said. “I didn't enjoy it.”  
   
 _She lies so beautifully,_  he thought with true enjoyment. “So am I,” he said. “Meet me at Quark's at 2000?”  
   
“All right,” she said. “How should I dress?”  
   
“Wear that red dress of yours. It's very flattering,” he said with a smile. This couldn't have possibly gone better. He had no idea she'd play into his hands the way that she did, thinking it was going to be much harder. Of course, he imagined he would actually have to seduce her and that it would've taken several separate encounters over the next few weeks. It never occurred to him she would take the same tact, just for a different reason. As he left the infirmary, he reflected that she must have loved that gul very, very much. Even now, she was trying to protect him. He was almost certain of it.  
   
 _Julian  
Quark's Bar_  
   
He couldn't believe it. Doctor Elizabeth Lense, his main rival all throughout medical school, just walked right past him as though she didn't even see him, talking and laughing with her crew mates from the Lexington. He felt as though he had just been slapped hard across the face; all of that worry, all of his preparations so that when they finally met and conversed she wouldn't think him an idiot was for nothing, because she thought she was too good even to acknowledge him. He glanced back at Miles, still seated at the table they had shared while waiting for him to find an opening, and the man shrugged, looking puzzled.  
   
He retook his seat, and when Quark came by to deliver more drinks, he glared hard at him, daring him to taunt him again about the woman. Seemingly sensing he was in no mood for it, Quark just set the drinks down and hurried away. He didn't even want to look over at Morn, not wanting to face the Lurian's leer. How could anyone who looked like that get the women he did? It was one of the mysteries of the universe, and in this very moment, the mystery annoyed him. Miles opened his mouth to speak. “I don't want to hear it,” the doctor snarled, downing half of his ale in one swallow.  
   
“Bloody hell,” Miles muttered, glancing toward the door.  
   
“What?” he asked, starting to turn.  
   
The Chief took him by his shoulder to stop him. “Nothin',” he said, going for nonchalance and failing.  
   
“Like hell, Miles,” he said, shrugging him off to turn. He couldn't believe it. Garak, dressed to the nines in one of Julian's favorite tunics, the one with rust chevrons, escorted Nurse Decla into the bar. The woman was stunning in a red gown that bared her shoulders and a tasteful amount of her ample cleavage. She had her hair down and was leaning quite familiarly on Garak's arm. He wondered if this day could possibly get any worse or more surreal as they moved toward the stairs to claim a table on the balcony. He looked away quickly before either of them could catch him staring. “Is this another hallucination?” he grumbled.  
   
Miles snorted. “He's only doin' it to get under your skin. You know that, right?”  
   
“You have no idea how true that probably is,” Julian said sourly, but he refused to explain further. He felt his attention drawn toward them like lodestone to iron. It was time to get out of there before he made a scene. It wasn't jealousy, he told himself, at least not precisely. How could Garak ever allow himself to spend time socially with a woman who had done everything in her power to hurt him when she had the chance? Didn't he know the woman could be dangerous?  
   
He knew that Garak had spotted him talking to Leeta. Was that also why Odo and Kira both seemed a little distant lately? Did they believe the rumor that he had dumped Garak so that he could date Leeta? They weren't even dating, just talking occasionally, and who were either of them to judge? They had no idea what Garak had done to him! Was that a dirty look Rom just shot him?  _Rom? Now you're getting paranoid,_  he told himself.  
   
“Julian?” Miles shook his shoulder. “You all right?”  
   
“Not really. Can we get out of here and get drunk?” he asked.  
   
“Music to my ears,” the engineer said with a chuckle and stood.  
   
He told himself not to, but he couldn't stop himself. As he stood, he looked up to the balcony. At that angle, he could barely see their faces. They were awfully close to one another for that to be an act, and anyway, he reflected, even if Garak was just doing this to try to hurt him, how in the hell would he manage to get a woman who hated him as much as she did to go along with him for it? That part didn't make sense at all.  _I hope you know what you're doing,_  he thought, genuinely worried beneath his snark.  
   
He followed Miles to his quarters, the two of them wasting no time breaking into the booze and starting the drink fest. “You know,” he said, downing a shot of scotch, “I really need to start contributing to the Miles O'Brien private bar fund,” he said, “as often as we wind up doing this.”  
   
“You're more 'n welcome to,” Miles said. “I won't complain, though Keiko might when she gets back.”  
   
“That's going to be a little strange for you, isn't it?” Julian asked.  
   
Miles shrugged. “It won't be so bad. I miss her 'n Molly. We won't have as much time together, though, you 'n me.”  
   
“I know,” he said glumly, just one more thing to go wrong lately. The truth was that he missed Garak, much more than he had thought he would. The only reason he hadn't called him to set up a lunch date was because he wanted to give him some time and space to get over the break up.  _Looks like he's well on the way to that,_  he thought angrily. Maybe he had given him too much space?  
   
He shook himself out of the thoughts. He was only angering himself, and what could he do about it? March back there and ask the two of them what they thought they were doing? Miles started to sing, and he quickly joined in, a song he had always loved. This was much better than discussing literature and being insulted over his tastes, right? If only Miles liked theater. His thoughts were all over the place, going back to Elizabeth Lense and his snubbing. Why would she do such a thing? What had he ever done to her? Hell, he had thrown that exam,  _thrown_  it, just so no one would suspect his secret. It galled. It galled worse because he could never tell her that he had given her first place, handed it right over because his parents warned him what would happen if he was too visible, not just to him but to all of them.  
   
He scoffed at Miles' theory that the woman was in love with him and felt slightly stung at his assertion that people either loved him or hated him. Was that true? If it was, what would happen when Garak decided he didn't love him, if he hadn't already decided it? How could the tailor believe for an instant that he had started a relationship behind his back? Didn't he know him better than that?  
   
He tuned back in to what Miles was saying, having to smile at two assertions that he quite definitely no longer hated him but that he couldn’t say that he loved him. He kept up his outward cheer, started singing with him again, and privately thought how odd it was that at first Garak had been the one unable to tell him that he loved him, now Miles. Of course, Miles meant it in a different way. He thought back further to his mother, his father. “I love you,” wasn't a common declaration in the Bashir household. Had they said it to him once since he discovered his secret?  _Maybe people sense something,_  he thought gravely.  _Something about me that pushes them away, makes them careful._  
   
He realized that Miles was no longer singing and was looking at him strangely. He plastered on a goofy smile. “What?” he asked, exaggerating his own drunkenness.  
   
“I don't know,” the man said. “You looked so sad just now. That whole Garak/Nurse Decla thing really got under your skin, didn't it?”  
   
“I suppose so,” he said. It wasn't entirely a lie. Almost none of his lies ever were. They all had a kernel of truth. It was the only way he could ever be convincing with them.  
   
“People move on,” he said. “You've been moving on. Why shouldn't Garak?”  
   
“It's not the same,” he said, staring into his scotch glass. “I like Leeta. She's nice, and I think maybe I would like to date her at some point. I'm not doing it to hurt Garak or even to move past him. Nurse Decla...God, Miles, she tried to keep Garak from seeing me when everyone thought I was dying, and he's content just to set that aside and pretend it didn't happen so he can get back at me? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense that she'd help him. She hates him!”  
   
“Maybe she doesn't hate him as much as you think she does,” he suggested. “A woman scorned, that sort of thing.”  
   
“Maybe,” he said, his brow furrowing. He looked up suddenly. “Why can't you say it?” he asked.  
   
The engineer blinked in confusion. “You lost me there,” he said, tipping back the rest of his scotch.  
   
“You said people either love me or hate me,” he said plaintively. “But all you can say is you don't hate me.”  
   
O'Brien opened his mouth and shut it a few times, looking like a gasping fish. “Well, you know,” he said, flushing at the cheeks and ears.  
   
“No,” Julian said. “I don't know. Tell me.”  
   
The Chief grunted and deftly plucked Julian's glass out of his hand. “I think you've had enough,” he said firmly.  
   
“Garak couldn't say it either,” he said softly, looking at the shiny toes of his boots. “Not for the longest time. When he finally did, I left him less than three weeks later. What does that say about me?”  
   
“Nothin',” Miles said gruffly. “It says things didn't work out. That's not all on you; it's not all on him.”  
   
“What does it say about me that my best friend can't tell me he loves me?” he pressed, raising his gaze to meet the concerned hazel eyes.  
   
Miles' redness deepened. “Nothin',” he said more forcefully. “Jaysus, Julian, is it really that important to you?”  
   
He shook his head, forcing a mischievous grin. “You should've seen your face.”  
   
“Very funny,” the man said, exasperated. “You really had me goin' there for a minute. Don't do that t' me, not when I've had this much t' drink. You want some more?” he asked.  
   
Julian nodded and accepted the refilled glass. He believed that he understood, at least where Miles was concerned. The man did love him, but not just as a friend, not the way he loved Miles. Why else flush, hem and haw, and act so relieved when he let him off the hook? He closed his eyes as he downed the burning drink. How had his life gotten so screwed up in such a short amount of time? “I ought to go,” he said, setting the shot glass on the coffee table.  
   
“You sure? You're pretty gone,” Miles said. “No need to go staggerin' off when you can sleep here.”  
   
“I'm sure,” he said, patting his arm. “I want to get up early so I can confront Doctor Lense before she leaves, and I don't think I'm the best company at the moment.”  
   
“All right,” he said, his disappointment plain in bluff features. “You know I don't expect you t' be perfect company.”  
   
“I know,” he said, smiling faintly. “It's one of the things I...don't hate about you.”  
   
Miles grinned and struggled to stand at the same time he did. The engineer pulled him into a hearty embrace, clapping him on the back and letting him go. “You need anythin', you let me know.”  
   
“I will,” he said. “Thank you, Miles.” Once out in the corridor, he lifted a hand to his mouth. Had he done something to encourage that? He imagined his friend must feel torn in two given the fact that he was married and had a child. He determined that he would be careful, never do or say anything to make things worse. It was the least he could do. Why was it that the people in his life that he did want to love him that way found it so hard, and yet the one person he would least want to see him in that light apparently couldn't help himself?  
   
Instead of heading for his quarters, he made the ill advised decision to return to Quark's Bar. He didn't expect to find Garak or Elizabeth there, yet a perverse part of him hoped that he would. If he found the former, he wanted to see if he was still bothering with his act when his main target had left. If he found the latter, he wanted to ask her who in the hell she thought she was to treat him that way. In his state, both options seemed eminently reasonable.  
   
The crowd around the Dabo table was a lively one. A flash of red drew his attention. He angled closer through the press. Yes, it was Nurse Decla, playing Dabo. Garak stood by her side, obviously a spectator, not a player, but his hand rested possessively at the small of her back. It was as though his entire world reduced to that sight, a gray hand against a snug red dress, more demonstrative with her in one outing than he had been with Julian after months of dating.  
   
In a split second, he made the decision to confront him. He hadn't gotten five steps before he found himself stopped by a tight hand to his elbow. Whirling to see who had grabbed him, he looked down at Rom. “What are you doing?” he asked the waiter.  
   
“What are  _you_  doing?” Rom retorted, glaring at him more heatedly than he had ever seen. He wouldn't have ever suspected him of such fierce emotion.  
   
He made an exasperated sound and tried to shake himself free of the clasp. “What I'm doing is none of your business,” he said. “You had best let me go.”  
   
“Look at him,” Rom hissed, dragging him through the crowd for a different view. “Smiling.  _Happy._ Haven't you done enough? Leave him alone for once!”  
   
His head spun. The crowd seemed entirely too loud. He couldn't deny what he was seeing. The tailor did look relaxed, and he was smiling, particularly when Decla suddenly declared, “Dabo!”, took her money, and threw both arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. She declined another spin, and the two disappeared from his view in the milling throng, only to re-emerge closer to the bar. He had to get out of there. Rom released him as soon as he realized he was heading for the door and not Garak and Decla.  
   
The rest of the Promenade was empty. He suddenly felt too sick to try to go to his quarters. He'd be lucky if he made it to the infirmary without disgorging the contents of his stomach. As he staggered through the door, he waved off help, going to the back and injecting himself with an anti-intoxicant. Gradually, his disorientation and illness faded, but not his hurt and confusion. What if he was being arrogant? Wasn't it possible this wasn't about him at all? Garak had said when they were still together that he had found the woman interesting. Now that he was free to pursue the interest, why did it have to be more complicated than that? “You need to get over yourself,” he said. “He was gracious when he saw you with Leeta. You need to be gracious.” A small part of him he rarely gave voice protested this strongly.  _But I don't want to!_  
   
Want it or not, he knew this was something he'd have to get used to. Decla wasn't going anywhere, and neither was Garak. Maybe he should invite him to lunch soon, start acting like the adult he kept insisting that people treat him as. He walked back to his quarters deep in thought. His maturity lasted for all of the walk, giving in to another bout of drinking and self pity, and ending with him lying flat on his stomach in bed in his full uniform and drooling on his pillow from passing out. Learning the next day that Doctor Lense mistakenly thought he was an Andorian and was actually quite a nice woman once she realized who he was seemed almost anticlimactic to him after all of his deep worry about her. He wished that things with Garak could resolve that simply, but he knew that was asking way too much.  
   
 _Garak  
Habitat Ring Two_  
   
Feeling very satisfied with himself, Garak graciously walked Decla, Lisane, he reminded himself, back toward her quarters. She had been everything he could have possibly hoped for at the bar. He had seen Julian's face when they entered and had taken mean delight in how perfectly his expression mirrored how Garak had felt when Rom told him of his betrayal.  _Not so much fun when the kicking boot is on another foot, is it?_  he had thought. Not surprisingly the doctor didn't stay, escorted out by his pet engineer. He wondered if Julian knew that the man's affections were somewhat more than they seemed. It amused him overly much to think that he didn't, and that O'Brien would follow him like a lovesick pup for an indefinite time. The racist engineer's dislike of him was thoroughly mutual.  
   
After Julian departed, he had turned his attention toward his companion. Ironically, she was excellent company, intelligent, sharp witted, incisively humorous. It was a real shame that she had so thoroughly gotten on his bad side. Otherwise, he would've enjoyed her for entirely different reasons.  
   
“You're very quiet,” she said, squeezing his arm with her hands and leaning closer as they walked.  
   
“Just reflecting on the evening,” he said amiably. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't expect I would enjoy myself nearly as much as I did.”  
   
“That makes two of us,” she said with a soft laugh. “I've never played Dabo before, just watched.”  
   
“You were smart about it,” he said.  
   
“Oh?” she asked, arching a brow.  
   
“Yes. You knew when to quit.”  _Too bad the same couldn't be said of your infirmary game,_  he thought, keeping his features carefully bland and pleasant.  
   
They stepped up to her door. “Here we are,” she said unnecessarily. He noticed her pulse quickening and glanced at the wide-set green eyes. Her pupils were small. Fear. Again.  
   
There was a time not so long ago in his past that he might have found that stimulating as well as satisfying. Now, he had to settle for satisfying. “Yes, we are,” he said, covering one of her pale hands on his arm with his own. Her skin was hotter than Julian's, the Bajoran metabolism slightly faster.  
   
She lowered her lashes, shadowing the upper curve of her cheeks. “Do you...want to come inside?” she asked.  
   
He knew she would let him if he pressed the issue and that it would likely take them some pleasurable places, except for the fact that he wasn't interested in bedding a terrified woman, no matter how much he disliked her. That didn't mean he couldn't make her squirm a little. “Do you want me to?” he asked, settling a finger beneath her chin and encouraging her to meet his gaze with light upward pressure.  
   
Her breath caught. He saw her internal struggle to hold his gaze, a losing battle as she looked swiftly to the side. “I'm not sure I'm...ready for that,” she said.  
   
He was quite sure she wasn't. “That's all right, Lisane,” he said in his most understanding tone. “Just going out and having an enjoyable dinner was nice for me. I wasn't expecting more.”  
   
She relaxed slightly and licked dry lips. “Thank you, Garak,” she said. “I ought to confess something to you,” she said hesitantly.  
   
He smiled inwardly. These little acts of hers were growing more entertaining with each passing interlude. “Yes?” he asked, all innocent curiosity.  
   
“I'm half afraid that you're just...biding your time to do something awful to me. I haven't met many Cardassians willing to forgo grudges.”  
   
It was an interesting tactic, he thought, telling him the truth with a false motive. “That's funny,” he said. “I've been wondering the same all night, what it is you really want with me.” Two could play that game.  
   
She curved a smile and looked away, her chin lifting. “I'm attracted to you, more than I should be,” she said. “As I told you before, there's much in you that reminds me of my old lover.”  
   
“So it's nostalgia?” he all but purred the word, dropping into intimate tones.  
   
Her pupils widened slightly before contracting again. He'd have to remember that, that she responded well to audial stimulus. As it wasn't a Cardassian strength, he often forgot that other races were different. “Perhaps a bit,” she murmured. “I probably should get to bed,” she said, taking a step back from him toward her door. She looked genuinely disconcerted beneath her veneer of calm.  
   
“As should I,” he said in that same tone of voice. Faint color blushed across her chest and cheeks. He smiled, stepping back instead of forward, and inclined his head deeply, maintaining eye contact. “Good night, Lisane.”  
   
“Good night,” she said, waiting for him to begin walking away before turning her back to punch in her door code.  
   
He heard the hiss of the door opening, her footsteps darting across the threshold, and another hiss as it closed behind her. He smiled to himself, taking his time in his stroll for the turbolift. She did feel some genuine attraction, and it bothered her.  _Good,_  he thought.  _Can't have you enjoying this game too much._  He had a lot of work to do if he intended to bring his plans for her to full fruition. As far as he was concerned, he had already extracted his pound of flesh from Julian. The young man was a victim of his own nature and youth, but this Bajoran woman had no such excuses. The simple fact of the matter was that she had managed to hurt him, deeply, and now? Now she would pay for it.

**Author's Note:**

> This story, posted to LiveJournal on Jan. 7, 2010, is set before and during “Explorers.” It doesn't work very well as a stand alone, although knowledge of the events of “Dangerous Game” and “Deconstruction” should be sufficient to make it make enough sense. The dialogue where Leeta introduces herself to Julian is taken from the episode. As always, I've done my best to minimize rehash otherwise.


End file.
